


ash and soot and grime

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lucifer's Cage, M/M, but with fluff and baths instead of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes, and everything is bright and white and clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ash and soot and grime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thirtyspells (weatherveyn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatherveyn/gifts).



They fall and they fall, for what feels like hours. They fall through ash and soot and grime, and the air itself is fully of oily curls, and he'd never thought Hell would be this _filthy_ —

—

He wakes, and everything is bright and white and clean. There's a pair of hands carding through his hair, gentle but insistent, and he sighs and presses back into them, closing his eyes against the brightness of the room.

There's a rough chuckle above him and his eyes shoot open, he flails out of the hands in his hair, splashing water everywhere—bathtub, he's in a bathtub, but he's in Hell, _why is he in a bathtub_ —

And there's Lucifer, blinking at him in an amused, fond sort of way, and his skin crawls. He's naked and vulnerable, oh God, he doesn't understand what's happening. He'd jumped, and then—

"Lie back down, you'll get soap in your eyes." Lucifer's voice is gentle and indulgent, there's not a hint of the rage and fury he'd expected.

Sam doesn't move. He doesn't understand, he doesn't understand what's happening. "I jumped," he says, bewilderment lacing his tone.

"You did." Lucifer's still calm and patient, not tearing Sam apart like he'd expect.

"I jumped," he says again, just in case, "I jumped and I'm in Hell, and the world's not going to end."

Lucifer nods, tilting his head in a way that reminds him painfully of Castiel. Sam closes his eyes, and he remembers flashes—remembers falling, passing out, waking up, passing out again and again and again, flashing through consciousness, remembers Lucifer carefully lifting him up and carrying him—somewhere. He doesn't remember Lucifer undressing him, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or not about that.

He flinches when Lucifer scoots toward him, his weight settled on the edge of the tub; he shrinks into the corner as much as he can, but Lucifer reaches for him, takes him by the shoulder and pulls him closer with unearthly strength.

"Let me wash the soap out of your hair," Lucifer says, still patient, and pushes until Sam allows himself to sink down under the water, shutting his eyes. He thinks he ought to be fighting, clawing and struggling and pushing Lucifer off of him. He's not entirely sure why he isn't, why's he's letting Lucifer's fingers push through his hair, it's only that—he's so tired, he's just so tired. He's won his battle, and the fight's gone out of him now.

Sam holds his breath, stays under the surface of the water as long as he can. When he slides back up into a sitting position, Lucifer is watching him, expression wistful.

"This isn't right," he tells Lucifer, letting himself be turned around so Lucifer can wash his back, the perfumed soap cake as brilliantly white as the rest of the room. He's filthy, he realizes, covered in soot and dirt, and that's right, makes sense, even if the gentle hands washing it away don't. "This is—I'm in Hell, I _jumped_ , it's supposed to be—fires and brimstone and _you_ —you're meant to be torturing me, and I don't—I don't—" He draws in a slow, shaking breath.

"Would you prefer that?" Lucifer asks. "Would you prefer it if I tortured you?" There's no mockery in it; it's an honest, curious question.

And Sam considers it. Turns it over in his head. "No," he says finally.

"Good," Lucifer says. "I wouldn't want to hurt you. I'll be anything you like, Sam, but I wouldn't enjoy hurting you."

"You're supposed to be angry," Sam says, and Lucifer huffs out a little sigh above him.

"I wouldn't," he says. "I wouldn't ever be angry with you." He drops a kiss onto the crown of Sam's head. "I'm very proud of you, Sam."

"I don't understand," Sam says plaintively, squirming as Lucifer strokes the soap down his neck, washing behind his ears.

"You _won_ ," Lucifer tells him, a hint of reverence in his voice. "You were so strong, so much stronger than I'd even realized, and you love so hard. You won, and I lost. I won't begrudge you your victory."

The water's starting to turn black with the grime washing off of him, and Lucifer opens the drain and the faucet, letting the tub refill itself.

"I never _wanted_ to fight him," he says, and there's something young and lost and sad in his voice.

"I know," Sam says. There's a faint lessening of tension in the air.

For several long minutes, they're both silent, nothing but the splashing of water against the side of the tub.

"I would have made it better, you know," Lucifer says, suddenly. "I wouldn't have destroyed it. I would have fixed it. I told you, I'd have given you everything; I'd have remade the world, just for you."

And it's funny, Sam, thinks, how utterly Lucifer can miss the point sometimes. "You'd give me everything you _think_ I want," he points out. "That's not the same thing."

Lucifer hums in a considering sort of way, nudges at his shoulder until he turns around. He looks hard at Sam for a moment, tilting his head, and says, "Close your eyes."

Sam shuts them obediently, not without a little trepidation. He's not sure what's coming until Lucifer raises the washcloth to his face, softer and gentler than any of the scratchy, motel-provided towels he'd used in his life. The touch of it is warm and soothing, layers of dirt being washed away, until he's left feeling cleaner than he has in a long time.

When he opens his eyes, Lucifer is watching him, his face unexpectedly close. "What is it that you want, Sam?" he asks, and Sam can feel his breath on his face. He thinks about shutting his eyes again, but then Lucifer is leaning him in, kissing him, his lips warmer and softer than Sam could have expected.

It's—he can't explain how it feels, it's like nothing he's ever felt before, and it doesn't make sense, it's just a kiss, but it's like there's sparks traveling down his spine, all along his nerves, and he gasps into it, fisting his hands in Lucifer's shirt and pulling him in closer. He's shaking when they finally pull apart, little tremors running down his arms, and Lucifer's face is alight with a fierce sort of curiosity.

They stare at each other for a long moment, while Sam's brain gives up trying to understand what's happening and tells him to just go with it.

He gives a tiny, jerky nod, and then Lucifer is climbing in with him, naked as Sam, straddling his hips and kissing him again. The motion sends water splashing up over the edge of the tub, and he thinks briefly on how at ease he feels like this, how much he doesn't feel like he's being pinned down. Lucifer's weight in his lap is a heavy, easy comfort, rather than an anchor. He nuzzles against Sam's neck, letting his head rest there, in the space between his neck and his shoulder. It's surprisingly peaceful, easy in a way that Hell shouldn't be.

"This is my kingdom," Lucifer tells him without lifting his head, and it takes Sam a moment to realize that he hadn't said the words aloud. He thinks about protesting. "My Father's true punishment, to give me my own domain and the tools to shape it into whatever I wished it to be, but alone. To make me into a mockery of a king."

"Is it—" Sam says, hesitantly. "Is any of it real?"

"A subjective question," Lucifer says, smiling into Sam's neck. "It's as real as you want it to be. As real as you or I. Reality can mean whatever you want it to. Perhaps what Hell means is a bathroom, a bathtub and the Devil. Perhaps that's always what it's meant."

Sam lifts a cautious hand, runs it down Lucifer's back, and Lucifer makes a contented noise, deep in his throat, almost like a purr.

It might be hours, might be years that pass before either one of them stirs. The water still hasn't cooled down, so perhaps it's only minutes. "I'm sorry," Sam says. "You were right. But I was right, too."

—

He doesn't remember falling asleep, only knows that he's waking up now. He hadn't dreamed, and he can't remember the last time he'd slept without dreaming.

He's not alone, either, and it takes him a moment to remember why that is. They're still naked, sheets as bright and white as the bathroom had been tangled around them, but he finds it doesn't bother him much. He's got his arm slung round Lucifer's waist where they're lying in bed together, and as he shifts, Lucifer opens his eyes, looks at him and smiles.

"We were together once," Lucifer says, voice thick with nostalgia. "As close as two beings can be, wound around each other so tightly it was as though our very essences would fuse together. And it was good, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam says, letting out a little sigh. He's half-hard, he's mildly surprised to discover, his erection pressing insistently against Lucifer's thigh. Lucifer makes a low, curious noise when he discovers this, gives him a look from under his eyelashes. 

He's not expecting it when Lucifer pushes him onto his back, nudges his thighs apart and moves to kneel between them. Doesn't expect it when Lucifer's tongue traces experimentally over the head of his cock, before taking him into his mouth with the kind of ease and skill that only comes from practice. It makes Sam wonder.

He makes no effort to swallow down the shallow gasps, the shameless moans, the soft _oh_ s that once might have made him ashamed. "Lucifer," he murmurs, and then, louder, " _Lucifer_." He comes with a groan, sinking back down off his elbows, and Lucifer laughs lightly, crawling back up the bed to kiss him.

"Like I said," he breathes against Sam's mouth. "My kingdom."


End file.
